The Chalet Interview

The mountain air was thin and cold, but the heat between us was anything but. I’d been hired as a consultant, flown out to the chalet for a weekend strategy session, and my new boss, Elara Vance, was a fucking masterpiece in a cashmere sweater. She was all sharp angles and softer curves, her auburn hair pulled back in a severe bun that made me want to unravel it with my teeth.

“You’re staring, Mr. Cole,” she said, not looking up from the blueprint spread across the massive oak table. Her voice was a low, smoky thing that did things to my spine.

“It’s a nice view,” I replied, letting my gaze drift from the floor-to-ceiling windows showing the snow-covered peaks to the perfect line of her jaw. “Both of them.”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. She finally looked up, and her eyes were the color of a stormy sea. “Flattery will get you nowhere. But initiative… that’s a different story.”

She walked around the table, her heels clicking a slow, deliberate rhythm on the polished wood floor. She stopped a breath away from me, close enough that I could smell her perfume—something with cedar and vanilla. Her hand, cool and sure, came up to rest on my chest, right over my pounding heart.

“The first thing I need to assess,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the edge of my collar, “is how you handle pressure.”

Before I could answer, she was kissing me. It wasn't a tentative, first-kiss kind of kiss. It was a claim. Her tongue swept into my mouth, tasting of coffee and something darker, and her other hand fisted in my shirt, pulling me against her. My hands found her hips, and I groaned as I felt her body mold to mine.

“God, Elara,” I breathed against her lips.

“Ms. Vance,” she corrected, but her voice was thick with need. “And you haven’t earned that yet.”

Her hands were everywhere then, unbuttoning my shirt with an impatient efficiency. She pushed it off my shoulders and her nails raked down my chest, leaving a trail of fire. I was hard as a rock, straining against my jeans, and she knew it. She pressed her palm against the growing bulge, squeezing me through the denim.

“Fuck, you’re eager,” she whispered, a dark thrill in her eyes.

“You have no idea,” I managed, my voice ragged. I reached for the hem of her sweater, and she let me pull it over her head, revealing a black lace bra that did little to hide the perfect swell of her breasts. Her skin was pale and smooth, and I wanted to taste every inch of it.

I unhooked her bra, and her tits spilled into my hands. They were full and heavy, her nipples already tight and rosy. I bent my head and took one into my mouth, sucking hard, and she gasped, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

“That’s it,” she moaned, arching her back, pushing herself deeper into my mouth. “Be rough.”

I wasn't going to argue. I pulled her tighter, my mouth working on her breast while my hand slid down her stomach, over the waistband of her tailored trousers. I found the button and had it open in seconds, my fingers sliding into her panties. She was so wet, her pussy slick and hot for me.

“Is this how you treat all your new employees?” I asked, my fingers circling her clit.

“Only the ones who know how to shut up and work,” she shot back, but her breath hitched as I pushed a finger inside her.

I worked her with my hand, two fingers now, curling inside her, feeling her walls clench around me. She was close, her hips grinding against my palm. But I wasn't ready to let her come yet. I pulled my hand away, and she groaned in frustration.

“Not yet, Ms. Vance,” I said, my voice low. “I want to see you from behind.”

I turned her around, bending her over the oak table. The blueprints crinkled beneath her. I could see her perfect ass, her skirt bunched up around her waist. I didn't waste any time. I yanked her panties down to her knees and spread her cheeks with my thumbs.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” I muttered, and then I was sliding into her.

She was tight, so fucking tight, and I pushed in inch by agonizing inch. She let out a long, guttural moan, her fingers clawing at the table. I started to move, slow and deep at first, savoring the feel of her. But she was having none of it.

“Faster, you bastard,” she hissed, pushing back against me.

I grabbed her hips and slammed into her, hard. The sound of our bodies meeting filled the room, punctuated by her sharp cries. I was buried deep inside her, her pussy gripping my cock like a vice. I reached around, my fingers finding her clit, and I rubbed her in tight circles as I fucked her.

“Oh, God… yes… right there,” she panted, her head falling forward.

I could feel her getting close, her body trembling. I didn't slow down. I fucked her harder, faster, my balls slapping against her ass. She was so wet, I could hear it, a filthy, wet sound that drove me crazy.

“I’m going to come,” she gasped. “Don’t you dare stop.”

I didn't. I kept pounding into her, my thumb on her clit, until she screamed, her whole body convulsing around me. I felt her pussy spasm, milking me, and that was all it took. I buried my face in her neck and came with a guttural groan, emptying myself deep inside her.

For a long moment, we just stayed there, panting, our bodies slick with sweat. The fire crackled in the hearth. The snow fell outside. I pulled out slowly, and she turned to face me, her hair now falling loose from its bun, her cheeks flushed.

“Well,” she said, her voice still husky. “I think that warrants a promotion.”

I laughed, pulling her into my arms. She rested her head against my chest, and I felt her heart beating in time with mine.

“What about the strategy session?” I asked, my lips against her hair.

“Consider it a working lunch,” she murmured. “We can pick it up again tonight. I have a few more things to assess.”